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Porter’s simple rule was to appease Charlie or don’t get paid.
Erin dropped the drinks off for a pair of regular customers. By their factory-issued tan jumpsuits, she assumed they worked in one of the local manufacturing centers. For all she knew, they worked in one of the production factories, producing one of many local varieties of signature beer Colorado continued to win awards for. Because of their identical outfits, she’d nicknamed themthe blondandhis bearded friend.
“Here you go, a vodka tonic. And a stout for you.” She set the drinks down, all the while bending forward to give the men a show as her skirt hiked up. It helped with the tips. Their eyes, however, were on the stage, fixated on Brie, one of the strippers.
Erin wouldn’t dance. She had a deal with Charlie and he’d never pushed her. He could be a hardass, but at least he respected her boundaries.
“That’ll be thirty for the drinks, guys.”
Only then did Erin merit their attention. The blond pulled out his wallet and fished out two twenties and handed them over. “Keep the change, Lola.” He smacked her on the rump, and although she cringed inside, Erin forced a smile.
“Thanks. Enjoy the show, guys.”
She turned to walk away, pulling a ten out of her apron, making the correct change, and then slid the tip into her bra.
“Hey, Lola!” the bearded friend called out.
She turned back and leaned on the table. “What’s up, guys?”
“When’d you get that ink done, girl?” His tongue licked his lips, his raw hunger directed right at her. “It’s wicked hot.”
“Huh?” These guys hadn’t been here long, and she’d only served them two rounds of drinks. What were they going on about?
“The vines across your shoulders. How long did it take to get ‘em done?” asked the blond. He wasn’t lewd like his friend, but the appreciation in his gaze was obvious.
Erin craned her neck around and glimpsed delicate, dark purple verdigris swirls gracing her shoulder blades under the thin straps of the tank top. What in the world? She couldn’t see how far the design extended. It would require a mirror to get a full view of her own back.She needed to get into the bathroom.
“What, you get it done after a rough night of partying?” asked the redhead, laughing at his own clever joke.
Erin’s thoughts flashed back to her dream, remembering the nymphs painting her skin in thedreamand how it had stung in places, including her back. She laughed aloud, shaking her head at the ludicrous concept.
But if it had all been a dream,why did her lips still feel bruised? What mark now adorned her back?
Could the golden-skinned man and his revelers have been real?
No.
Impossible.
Which is why she now had a mark on her back, which a shower hadn’t washed off? A shiver ran through her body, causing her to wobble a touch on her heels.
The men stared at her, and Erin stared right back.
“Lola!” Charlie’s voice bellowed.
Erin almost dropped her tray, but pinned it between her arm and ribs. “Sorry guys, I gotta run.” She flashed them a wide, fake smile and spun toward Charlie, who was in the back of the club in the VIP section.
Dragging her scuffed heels to the low-lit area cordoned off by worn, red velvet ropes, which Charlie must have stolen from a shutdown movie theater, Erin tossed her short, flippy hair coquettishly at the stoic bouncers before acknowledging Charlie.
“What cha’ need, boss?”
The tall man had short-clipped hair, dark brown eyes, and harsh, angular features that intimidated almost everyone more than the bouncers. But then, as the boss, it was only fitting to be the most imposing figure on the floor. “I’ve got a client requesting you.”
She almost laughed at his hubris. “I don’t doclients, Charlie.”
He barked out a laugh. “Little Lola’s got a backbone today?”
“I wait tables here. I’m not one of your other girls.” Erin crossed her arms and leaned back into her hip, arching an eyebrow.
